Not A Lady's Maid
by Maple Fay
Summary: Downton, 1902. A visit from an estranged member of the Crawley family shakes head housemaid Elsie Hughes' life to the extent she'd never imagine. AU, introducing an original character. Actually, a fic I'd dreamt a few nights ago.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** This is a story based on a dream I had last Saturday night. Just so you know, my brain chose Dana Delany to play Lady Rosalie Crawley, Robert's youngest sister. How could I possibly say 'no' to Dana?..._

_Please let me know what you think._

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><p><em>Downton Abbey, 1902<em>

It's only the beginning of her second month in Downton, but Elsie feels she really likes it here. Perhaps she'll stay here longer than in Edinburgh. Maybe she'll even get promoted after Mrs. Rogers retires next year.

She's just finished her breakfast, and is about to go upstairs and clean the drawing room, when the housekeeper enters the servants' hall with a deep set frown on her face. "Elsie, a word," she says in a clipped, tired voice, and Elsie wonders what in Heaven's name happened. She certainly doesn't remember doing anything wrong.

She follows Mrs. Rogers into her sitting room, and closes the door. "Is there anything I can do?"

"As a matter of fact…" the older woman bites her lip, "I'd like you to take care of Lady Rosalie. She arrives tomorrow."

It's Elsie's turn to frown, not understanding. "Lady Rosalie? I'm not sure I…"

"She's Lord Grantham's youngest sister. She's coming over from London, and she'll probably stay a while, like she does, but she hasn't got a lady's maid at the moment. I thought you might step in? Miss Wilkins couldn't possibly tend to her as well as to her ladyship, the Dowager Countess _and_ the young ladies."

Elsie blinks, surprised. "I'm not sure I could manage, Mrs. Rogers. I've never tended to a lady. Perhaps Leslie could…"

"No," Mrs. Rogers interrupts her with a definite shake of her head, "Leslie certainly wouldn't do. I'm afraid it's all down to you, Elsie."

She has to agree, she cannot openly oppose to the housekeeper's wish, although she's quite angry at being treated like a little girl, as if she wasn't a woman of thirty-nine, and the head housemaid in such a great household. She nods curtly and heads upstairs to prepare the room.

She bumps into Leslie in the corridor, and pulls her in the green room, the one she's never been to, one in which Lady Rosalie is supposed to stay. "Who is she? And why does Mrs. Rogers want _me_ to take care of her?" she demands, curious and a little stressed. Leslie rolls her eyes and shakes her head, her golden hair catching the sun.

"Don't worry, Elsie. Lady Rosalie is… quite peculiar in her ways, but she's as nice as they get. You'll think you're on holiday."

"Yes, but—what if I cannot do whatever it is she might want from a lady's maid?"

Leslie's eyes narrow a bit. "Trust me, she'll tell you. She'll tell you _everything_ she wants."

"What was _that_ supposed to mean?"

The younger girl shakes her head again. "Least said, soonest mended."

This leaves Elsie quite perplexed. And if there's one thing Elsie Hughes despises, it is feeling perplexed.

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><p>The room has a cold, impersonal feeling about it; Elsie brings in some flowers and changes the bed linen in hope of bringing some warmth and colour into it, but by the end of the day she feels completely defeated. She sits quietly at dinner, ever so often catching the eye of Mr. Carson, the young butler.<p>

Sometimes it feels as if the man is constantly watching her, making sure that she's there and that everything is alright.

It's not unpleasant, she decides.

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><p>Lady Rosalie is taller than Elsie, slimmer than Elsie, <em>younger<em> than Elsie—and it's that last thing that surprises her the most. Given that Lord Grantham has got three daughters, and Lady Painswick had been married for quite some time, Elsie imagined their sibling to be closer to their age, approaching forty—not a willowy, red haired goddess of no more than thirty.

For a moment, when Lady Rosalie is being greeted by Mrs. Rogers and Mr. Carson, she stares shamelessly at her, taking in golden freckles peppering her face and shoulders, the deep green of her eyes, the easiness with which she moves, elegant and confident.

And then she's looking at her, and Elsie feels herself blush.

"Milady, this is our new head housemaid, Miss Hughes," Mr. Carson's deep voice resonates surprisingly close to Elsie's ear. "She will take care of you during your stay."

Lady Rosalie smiles and nods, obviously not caring about the 'head _house_maid' part. "Very well. I'm sure it will work out perfectly. I think I'll have a bath before dinner, would you kindly arrange it, Hughes?"

Nobody has ever addressed Elsie in this manner. It's strange, it's new, but not unwelcome. "Certainly, milady," she curtseys and heads upstairs straight away.

Just as she's about to round the corner, the door to the drawing room opens, and the voice of the Dowager Countess, dripping of sarcasm, resonates throughout the hall. "And so, the prodigal daughter returns."

"Always a pleasure to see you too, Mama," Lady Rosalie says in an equally cold tone, and enters the room.

The last thing Elsie hears in the door slamming behind her.

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><p>"What is your Christian name, pray? I hate calling maids by their last names. It makes me feel like I'm talking to dogs, or horses."<p>

"It's Elizabeth, milady—but everybody calls me Elsie."

"Elsie. I like that." Lady Rosalie leans her head over the edge of the tub and runs a sponge across the length of her slender, freckled arm. "Where from Scotland are you, Elsie? And how long have you been working in Downton?"

"I'm from Argyll, milady, and I came here nearly two months ago."

"Goodness! You've travelled quite a distance. Do you like Yorkshire?'

"Yes, milady, it's very pleasant." It's the first time somebody from the family inquired about Elsie's feelings regarding her new workplace; the very idea should seem peculiar, and yet—coming from Lady Rosalie—it is not so. Elsie busies herself with sorting her new mistress' clothing, and wonders what Miss Wilkins talks to Lady Cora, or, for that matter, the Dowager Countess, about as they bathe.

Or even: if she talks to them at all.

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><p>"…that <em>horrible<em> affair!"

Elsie pauses outside Lady Rosalie's room, her hand raised to knock on the door. She looks around—she's alone in the corridor, arms full of freshly pressed dresses—and steps a little closer to the door, deeply ashamed to be eavesdropping like that.

"Did you even think about that poor girl?" it's the Dowager Countess' voice again, laced with anger and disappointment. "Have you no shame?"

"I thought about her every minute of every day, mother," Lady Rosalie replies, coldly and evenly. "And do _not_ talk to me about shame. I know everything there is to know on the subject. You taught me well."

"I only taught you the lessons you deserved."

That's enough, Elsie thinks as she jumps back, cheeks burning, and stomps her feet a few times to create an illusion of somebody walking down the corridor from a greater distance, and knocks on the door before turning the handle.

The old countess is standing over Lady Rosalie, seated at her dressing table, and when they both turn to look at Elsie, their eyes are cold and malicious to the point of making her feel quite uneasy, despite her age and experience. "It's past the dressing gong, milady," Elsie says with a polite smile. "Would you like to dress for dinner now, or should I come back later?"

"Now, I think. You don't mind, do you, Mama? You must know how hard it is to train a new maid… _to explain to her what I like_."

There's something venomous and cruel about the way Lady Rosalie speaks, looking her mother in the eye with cheek and challenge in her eyes, but the Dowager Countess doesn't pick up the glove. She simply turns on her heel and leaves, all but bumping into Elsie in her haste to get out of the room. Lady Rosalie follows her with a sad, thoughtful look on her face, before turning back to the mirror. "I'll put on the red dress tonight, I think."

The dress is actually cherry red, to be exact: a shade Elsie never would have thought worked for a person of Lady Rosalie's complexion, but as it turns out, it accentuates her fiery hair and pale, only slightly blushed face perfectly. Elsie dresses her in silence, following the few quietly spoken directions to the letter.

It's not until she's done and turns to go back downstairs, when Lady Rosalie speaks—_really_ speaks—to her for her first time:

"Love makes us do many foolish things, doesn't it?"

Elsie freezes and turns slowly to meet Lady Rosalie's eyes in the mirror. "I wouldn't know, milady."

"Haven't you ever been in love, Elsie?" she smiles a sad, lonely smiles, and fiddles with her necklace. "Perhaps you are the lucky one. That's all for now."

Elsie nods, stunned, and leaves, not quite sure what she should make of this whole scene.

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><p>Helping a lady undress after dinner takes longer than she expected, so when she finally descends the stairs to help herself to the last cup of tea of the day, everybody has already gone up.<p>

Well, almost everybody.

"I thought you might want one," Mr. Carson explains as he pours her a cup of strong, steamy tea, much like the one he's nursing. "It must have been a difficult day."

"Not very much, no," Elsie answers, gratefully accepting the beverage, "but thank you all the same."

She looks at him across the table—the warm, kind eyes, the considerate look he's giving her—and wonders if Lady Rosalie was truly right when she'd said that her, Elsie, was the lucky one…

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><p><strong>TBC?...<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**__ So, here it is: the rest of what I'd dreamt last weekend. I hope you like it._

_(There will be another chapter, as I have obviously woken up too early.)_

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><p>Leslie was right. It <em>is<em> a holiday.

Lady Rosalie keeps mostly to herself. In the first week of her stay, she only goes down to dinner twice, each time impeccably dressed, but cold and silent. She writes many letters though, all addressed to a 'J. Lavesham, c/o Mrs. William Campbell, London'. (Elsie only knows it because she always asks her to post them separately from the family's correspondence.)

Sometimes, Lady Rosalie rides: always alone, although Lady Mary is quite a capable rider for her young age, and one who usually enjoys having some company on her escapades. Elsie isn't sure whose decision is it to keep them separate; she only knows that Lady Rosalie takes pleasure in the exercise, and in the complete exhaustion it leaves her with.

In the evenings, Lady Rosalie often goes to the old nursery and plays the piano. Mozart, Brahms, a little Bach—at least that's what it says on the covers of sheet music. She takes her hair down herself most of the times, although she lets Elsie brush and braid it for the night. She's quiet, calm, and never makes any unreasonable requests.

All in all, Elsie has absolutely no idea why everybody seemed so appalled by the very idea of having her stay at Downton, or _tending_ to her, for that matter.

She tells Leslie and Mrs. Rogers that much when they ask her, suspiciously gently, about her new work, ten days after it'd begun. "I think she's a perfectly fine young lady," she says firmly, and stands up as the bell rings for the green room.

The others exchange worried glances, but say nothing. _Prejudice, if I ever saw it_, Elsie thinks and walks briskly towards the stairs.

She cannot help but feel protective over Lady Rosalie, in a way one would feel about their younger sibling. It's highly unprofessional, perhaps bordering on inappropriate, but she feels genuinely sorry for the poor girl.

"Miss Hughes?"

She turns and gives Mr. Carson a warm, if a little distracted smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but Lady Rosalie's just rung—"

"It will only take a minute," he interrupts her, the very tips of his ears turning pink. "I simply wanted to ask—are you planning to go to the fair tonight?"

Her heart flutters a little, and she brushes imaginary hair off her face. "I think so. Provided that Lady Rosalie doesn't need me…"

"Would you mind walking with me, if you do?"

There's the flutter again, and she scolds herself mentally for acting like a girl half her age. "I don't see why not. I will let you know."

"Very well. I shan't keep you from your work any longer."

When she opens the door to Lady Rosalie's room, the smile still hasn't gone away from her face. "You rang, milady?"

"Ah, Elsie," Lady Rosalie closes a book with a smile, "we're going to Haxby for dinner, so I won't be needing you tonight. Were you planning on seeing the fair at the village?"

"Yes, milady—if you didn't need me, that is."

"I'm glad not to be standing in your way, then," Lady Rosalie quips, giving Elsie a know-it-all smile. "And am I right to suppose that you shall not walk alone…?"

It must be something on her face, making her feelings clearly visible to anyone who cared to look, Elsie decides as she bit her lip, trying to focus on gathering the clothes to be laundered. "Actually, somebody did ask if they could accompany me," she answers carefully, not sure what Lady Rosalie's views on the staff 'socializing' with each other are.

The young woman's face is a perfect image of innocence. "And would that 'somebody' be Mr. Carson?" She laughs dearly at the horrified expression on Elsie's face, and sheds her afternoon dress, getting ready to be fitted into her corset. "Don't fret, Elsie, I have absolutely nothing against my brother's butler escorting the head housemaid to a fair. And I believe Carson is a fine man. Wouldn't you agree?"

Elsie sighs and shakes her head, putting the lace through loops and around hooks. "I could never say anything against him, milady—but there are other matters to consider. You may not find the house staff socializing abominable, but should Lord Grantham be of a different mind, such a liaison might put an end to both of our careers. That is, if there _was_ a liaison to talk of in the first place," she feels compelled to add hastily.

Lady Rosalie sighs, her breasts rising a little as the corset pushes them up. "It would seem that we are not so different from one another, Elsie. We both need to think twice before we give our hearts away."

"I beg to disagree, milady," Elsie smiles as she finishes lacing the corset and reaches for the dress. "Should you desire to marry, it would only serve to strengthen your position in the society, whereas for someone like me it would mean the end of—well, of everything: the career, however insignificant, the hopes for the future…"

"And yet," Lady Rosalie interrupts, meeting Elsie's eyes with the saddest look she'd ever seen on her face, "I do _not_ desire to marry. And to me, it means the end of all these things."

"Perhaps you haven't met the right person yet, milady." This is as lame an attempt to comfort her mistress as there ever could be, but Elsie feels lost, not knowing what to make of the blush rising up on Lady Rosalie's cheeks as she tries to stop herself from crying, or of the way her eyes darken as they lock with hers.

"I believe I have," she whispers so quietly Elsie can hardly understand the words. "And that is the whole problem."

To which there are no words Elsie could possibly use as consolation, so she remains silent as she finishes dressing this young, beautiful, terribly sad woman, putting her hair up and clasping a heavy ruby necklace around her neck.

She's a perfect picture of silent sorrow by the end of it.

"Elsie," Lady Rosalie says as they exit the room together, stopping her in the shadowy corridor, "I really appreciate everything you do for me."

"Thank you, milady, but there's no need to—"

"There is every need," Lady Rosalie touches Elsie's wrist, and her fingers are cold, so cold they almost seem hot. "Especially since you don't seem to realize…" She pauses and looks down, the delicate flicker of an oil lamp illuminating her face like an old painting. Elsie waits for her to continue, but she doesn't so she simply stands there, unmoving, hardly breathing at all.

Silence stretches out between them, until Lady Rosalie sighs in exasperation, and reaches out to ghost her fingertips over Elsie's cheekbone, and place the most chaste of kisses right outside the left corner of her mouth. It's so quick and delicate that, for a moment, Elsie is sure she'd dreamt it.

There's still silence, but a very different one, underlined with sudden understanding, awe and fright.

Finally, Lady Rosalie steps back, brushes the same hand she'd touched Elsie's face with down her neck, and smiles nervously, not meeting her eyes. "I hope you shall have a pleasant evening at the fair," she says, and every word she speaks seems to be a plea for understanding.

"Thank you, milady," Elsie says hoarsely and watches as Lord Grantham's younger sister, so beautiful, so kind and so unfortunately in love, descends the stairs to join the family that despises her.

And then she turns, and takes the stairs up to her room, to get herself ready for a walk of which, had they known, the Crawleys would probably despise just as fervently.

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><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** The last chapter-and one that I hadn't actually dreamt, too. Thank you very much for reading and reviewing!_

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><p>She can feel him watching her, and wonders when, if ever, is he going to express his concern regarding the unusually pensive mood she's in.<p>

Once at the fair, the younger members of the staff stride purposefully towards the stage upon which the band is playing, and onto the makeshift dance floor. Elsie doesn't make any move that might suggest she'd rather follow them; in fact, she's much more comfortable staying away from the crowd for the moment.

So further away they go, until they encounter a sweets stand, and Mr. Carson insists on buying her a caramel apple—one of her favourite treats, except for chocolate, that is. She smiles at him and bites into the fruit, closing her eyes in pleasure.

"Have you recovered, Miss Hughes?"

She opens her eyes and furrows her brow just a little. "Recovered, Mr. Carson?"

"You seemed quite preoccupied during our walk over from the house," he explains, searching her face with kind, caring eyes.

"Oh. Yes, perhaps I was."

"Was there anything you'd like to talk to me about? Do you find yourself… dissatisfied with your new job?"

_There it is again_, Elsie thinks, and bites her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud, _the gentle probing, circling around the topic, trying to determine whether I know or not, and if Lady Rosalie's done something 'improper'. Perhaps this is why Leslie wouldn't tend to her this time._

She wonders what passed between Lady Rosalie and the younger maid. Leslie might be a simple, plain girl, but she has a kind heart: so whatever it was, it must have shocked her to no end. And since the scene she, Elsie, had found herself becoming a part of this very evening was quite unexpected, but not _shocking_ as such… She stops right there, wondering if perhaps _she_ is the one who should be shocked, awed, frightened or disgusted; if she should demand a change in her chores that would allow her to stop tending to Lady Rosalie at once.

Perhaps she should. But that would be a sign of cowardice, and Elsie Hughes is not a coward.

"Not at all," she says, looking Mr. Carson in the eye from under her eyelashes. "Lady Rosalie is a charming young lady, as far as I can say. I am not a proper lady's maid, though, so my judgment may differ from one of a person who's been in the trade longer than I." She looks back down at the apple in her hands. "If I am preoccupied today, it's not because of any complaints I may have. I was simply thinking about something Lady Rosalie told me today."

"And what would that be, pray? Unless the conversation was a private one?"

Elsie can see the unprofessional curiosity, laced with worry over her wellbeing, taking hold of Mr. Carson's usual composure and polite detachedness. It's quite charming, and makes her smile directed at him a little brighter than it should have been for propriety's sake. "Not at all. We talked about courage, Mr. Carson—courage and its consequences."

"Courage? What's brought such a grave subject on?"

She can tell he's teasing her the tiniest bit, and wonders what his reaction to her next words would be. "The primary subject we'd discussed was the freedom to express one's feelings, Mr. Carson." She folds the paper over the half-eaten apple and closes it between her fingers, warming her palms. "And the way in which making such an open statement affects both the speaker and the listener." She pauses, swallows, and continues bravely, "Both Lady Rosalie and myself believe that, should a case be worth fighting for, a little bravado can do a person good. Although you probably don't approve of such a frivolity…" This isn't meant to be a cutting remark, only a statement of a well-known fact, perhaps coloured with the slightest tinge of regret.

They continue to simply stand next to each other by the sweets stand, silent and serious for entirely different reasons, staring off into the space, pretending to keep a watchful eye over maids and footmen sauntering around in the crowd, but not seeing any of it.

Elsie has almost lost all hope for getting another word out of her companion when he speaks again, in a deep, low voice that resonates throughout her body, caressing the inside of her skin: "I believe courage is essential in such matters, Miss Hughes—as long as it is coupled with the strength of the spirit, and the constancy of the heart."

She raises her eyes to meet his, slightly disbelieving yet very, very hopeful. "Are you saying that you approve of the notion of openly confessing one's romantic feelings, Mr. Carson?"

"If one is sure of their affection, and if making a confession would not result in hurting the other party in any way, then yes, I do, Miss Hughes."

They look at each other, awed by his admission, for several long moments. Elsie is the first one to look away, when a group of children runs past them, shrieking with laughter. She becomes increasingly aware of the fact they'd almost said something that should _not_ be voiced during a village fair, with hordes of people strolling around them, the music blasting away in the background and the thick aroma of roasted sugar hanging in the air—these are the things that should be whispered into the quiet, warm air of a butler's pantry or a servants' hall emptied of all the younger staff, by the low, yellow light of a gas lamp.

Mr. Carson seems to be of a similar opinion, for he extends his arm to her in a gallant gesture. "Is there anything else you'd like to see, Miss Hughes?"

She meets his eyes boldly and smiles, lacing her arm with his. "I'd rather go back before the others do, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," he answers politely and they start on their way back, retracing their steps from less than an hour ago.

There is a different kind of silence stretching out between them now; a warm, comforting kind of camaraderie and trust that comes from understanding one another's feelings. It is Mr. Carson who breaks it this time, pressing Elsie's hand a little closer to his side. "I have overheard Lady Rosalie speak to his lordship tonight—as far as I understand she'll be going back to London by the end of next week."

"Oh," Elsie says, and wonders if tonight's occurrences had anything to do with that decision; she quickly dismisses the thought, though, as it has nothing to do with her, but rather with Lady Rosalie having reached some kind of a conclusion for her dilemma. "That's a pity. I enjoyed working for her."

"Are you saying that if she stayed, you might have considered becoming a full-time lady's maid and leaving us, Miss Hughes?" The distress in Mr. Carson's voice, however carefully he tries to hide it, makes Elsie chuckle under her breath and give his arm a gentle squeeze.

"Oh, no, I do not think so, Mr. Carson. I have already told you—I do not consider myself a lady's maid, and it is not my ambition to become one. A housekeeper, on the other hand… but you'll think me arrogant and conceited; I won't say more about it."

"On the contrary, Miss Hughes. I daresay you'd make a great housekeeper."

"Even in such illustrious a house like Downton, Mr. Carson?"

He looks down at her with a small smile that warms her heart and makes her blush. "_Especially_ in a house like Downton, Miss Hughes."

**The End**


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